


ten rose bouquet

by BelieveMePlease



Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Autumn Internationals, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelieveMePlease/pseuds/BelieveMePlease
Summary: "Say you're sorry, get him some flowers, tell him how you feel. Anything's got to be better than you both being miserable, surely."~~~~~The ten reasons (roses) Owen owes George for this autumn.





	ten rose bouquet

The first is for the South Africa team sheet.

His first reaction is to comfort and console, of course it is, squeezing George's fingers tight as they retreat after the announcement is made. Yet the walk back to Owen's hotel room after the meeting is stiff; tense and silent, and the lack of conversation is unnerving.

He doesn't like having to let go of George's hand in order to work the door key, likes the way George sighs at his momentary struggle even less. Still, his hand draws up against George's lower back, ushers him inside ahead of himself, shuts the door behind his own back leaving himself as a final shield.

Owen slumps back against the door, smiles back when George offers him a doleful quirk of the lips.

"Alright?" Owen winces as he himself says it. No, clearly he's not.

George shrugs, but his smile sticks. When he reaches out for the hug, Owen's shoulders heave in relief, stepping forward with open arms, pulling George into his chest.

"Can we just not talk about it?" George's fingers pull lightly at the back of Owen's jersey, Owen brings a hand up to cup the back of George's head, hooks his chin over the crown of it.

"Yeah," Owen shuts his eyes, inhales, "Yeah, we can just not do that."

"Congratulations, though." It's said with another weak shrug and Owen knows he should know better than to trust in it, but hearing the words said makes Owen beam wide. There's something about George's praise of him that makes it hard to conceal just how thrilled his really is.

"Thanks," Owen takes George by the hand and pulls him over to his bed, settles in immediately with unsubtle claims on what he feels he can bring to the game in his preferred position. George sits patiently through it all, nods along when he feels he should. Owen should really shut up, but he doesn't.  

Only Dylan seeking his own bed an hour or so later can put an end to his babbling.

The second is for _that_ tackle.

Owen curses as he falls forward. He lifts his weight onto his forearms quickly to take the pressure off his winded chest, head turning to glance in the referee's direction and catching George's eye over his shoulder.

He's already staring at Owen, almost entirely ignoring the active match happening around them, his head is cocked to the side in concern. Owen swears again as he gathers himself up onto his feet in just enough time to see Williams boot the ball from the field.

Kruis comes battering into him barely a second later, smashing their foreheads together in a delighted display of violent celebration. Owen roars back in sync with the crowd, but his gut is turning uncomfortably and his shoulder is bright with its affliction.

The second Kruis sends him away with a slap on the back, Owen begins protesting his innocence. He heads towards the rest of his team with excuses already flowing, directing them to everyone while simultaneously staring straight at George who is walking towards him slowly, giving nothing away in his cloaked expression. Owen's stomach turns once again.

As the ref beckons him over, the feeling of dread has sunk in deep and for the first time since the six nations, Owen wishes he wasn't captain, wishes he wasn't the one who has to hear the news, wishes he could draw George in close to his side so they could take the blow together.

And yet, the call swings their way and before the ref is even done talking, Owen is turning away and screaming in delight, seeking George out amongst the white shirts. Maro grabs him first, and Wilson, then Slade is bounding into him too and as they all pour over, Owen begins to forget who he was looking for in the first place.

The third is for the conversation he overhears between George and Ben.

Well, eavesdrops over would be a more fitting account.

It's late afternoon two days after the twenty-three to face New Zealand was announced to the squad and Owen is showering in George's room after training. It's a tactical ploy to ensure that damp, lazy cuddles will absolutely ensue afterwards, but he does make sure to towel off as best he can, keen to avoid George's wrath were Owen to get him wet.

Owen pauses midway through his ministrations with the towel, tuning in to the voice he can hear through the bathroom door. He panics momentarily when he realises the voice is decidedly not George's, but calms when he affiliates it to Ben.

"You're doing a very good job of acting the supportive partner, that's all I'm saying. Very selfless." Owen thinks he can decipher a tease in Ben's voice.

"I'm not acting," George deadpans. Owen can picture the way George would look perfectly as he says it. "I'm genuinely happy for him, obviously, it's just sometimes-"

"You hate the bastard beyond belief, yeah, I can imagine." Owen has to stifle a laugh. Yeah, he wouldn't be surprised if George really does.

"No! I just sometimes, I dunno, wish I had what he has? Like, I'm glad that he's got what he's always wanted and that he's captain and he gets to play at ten, but I just wish I could have those things sometimes."

Owen's heart sinks.

"The world loves him and no one seems very fond of me at the moment and it gets kind of hard sometimes, you know?"

Owen's heart breaks in his chest.

The fourth is for never telling George what he overheard.

Because that's what you're supposed to do, only, Owen still manages to avoid it at every possible opportunity. He tells himself it's just because he wouldn't know how to broach it, especially as time wears on, but a bigger, more guilty part of him guesses it's just his wounded pride. It hurt that George didn't feel he could go to Owen in the first place, that Ben was the one he turned to. They haven't been rivalled against each other, not really, for three years now, and there's definitely a tension forming from the added strain.

They're alone for the evening two nights before they're due to face the All Blacks, Owen finally having convinced Dylan to trade rooms with George for the night.

It's pretty fair to say they haven't wasted the privacy, basking in an afterglow, feet entwining at the end of the bed. George's eyes are closed, but his breathing is still a little ragged which makes Owen smile smugly to himself.

"Stop staring at me, weirdo." It's just a low grumble, George's eyes still shut as he talks, but the sudden break in the silence makes Owen jolt.

"I wasn't!" Owen doesn't know why he's bothering to try and deny it. George always knows exactly what he's doing even with his eyes closed. "Just admiring you, bub."

Owen reaches out and ruffles George's hair, smiles when his eyes flutter open, laughs at the unimpressed look on his face.

Having him this close, this intimate, Owen is hit suddenly with a new wave of guilt. George shouldn't have to wish he could have what Owen has, Owen should give it all up to him if only he'd ask.

He really needs to talk to George and here's the perfect opportunity. He doesn't say a word.

The fifth is for how he reacts to being benched.

Japan is meant to be George's match; his fiftieth cap, his first proper shot at captaincy, his chance to prove his worth as a kicker. Owen should be thrilled for him, should take his demotion to the bench just as humbly as George has been doing for weeks.

He doesn't, though.

They talk in a private briefly before the rest of the team meet, himself, George, Dylan and Eddie. He sees the hints of a smile flicker on George's face at the news, well concealed for Owen's sake once again. Selfishly, Owen ignores him in favour of making his fury known.

Everyone knows Owen doesn't fair well with being benched or rested, being left out of two out of three games last autumn had been testament enough to that, and few people understand that quite as well as George. He handles it well, of course he does, sits quietly as Owen rants manically to their coach, questions why they can't both start, why they can't co-captain -overlooking the fairly obvious reasons why Eddie would be reluctant to ever have them captain together.

Later, when the rest of the team have gathered, Owen can't bring himself to keep his feelings from his face. Some of the lads eye him warily as Eddie reads the team sheet, some others do the same to George, no one quite sure if they should take the first steps to congratulate him or not.

He feels awful for how he's acting, for causing George's downtrodden expression. He feels worse when George moves towards him, pulls him into a soft hug despite the team's company.

All Owen can do is drop his head to George's shoulder and mope silently.

The sixth is for his lack of acknowledgment to George's fiftieth cap.

A year and a half earlier, when Owen had celebrated his own against Italy, George had been a staple part of the experience and Owen couldn't have imagined it without him.

They'd ordered Prosecco to their hotel room two nights before the game, and when they had to remain sober the next night, George had indulged him with a multitude of alcohol free activity. Even after the match, when Owen hadn't played his best, hadn't kicked too well, George had been there as the pillar to let off steam with.

With every one of Owen's tests as skipper, George had been there, too. The first time he'd been given the chance of a full match, back against France in the Six Nations, George had quite literally leapt on him. It had been in the doorway of Daly's hotel room where a few of the lad's, including George, had been gathered at the time. He hadn't been supposed to tell anyone except George before the rest of the team had been announced, but when George had gone full rom-com and tried to jump into his arms it probably wasn't hard for them to assume.

For George though, Owen does little more than clap in the tunnel. He offers George a meek smile, a mixture of congratulations and apology. Owen knows George is at least a little pissed at how he's been acting; especially after last night when Owen blew off George's invitation to his own room in favour of laying and wallowing at his demotion, not to mention at what an awful boyfriend he's being.

When George smiles back grimly, however, Owen considers that maybe he's wrong. Maybe George isn't annoyed. He just looks _sad._

The seventh is for how everyone else reacts to the Japan game.

This one isn't Owen's fault, at least he can take comfort in that. But the use of his name to overshadow George's performance makes him feel just as guilty. If not more.

Owen honestly doesn't think he's ever been more proud of George for any other match. He managed the team as a flyhalf, he managed the team as a captain, he kicked so-almost-perfectly. The bitter taste that had been left in Owen's mouth at the news of their role-reversal was long forgotten by the time he had joined George on the pitch, having spent the entire forty minutes of the first half mesmerised by the beauty of his play.

In the hours and days that follow, though, the pundits' and media's reactions to the game begin to become more apparent, and more brutally contrasting to Owen's own.

George is sat on Owen's bed at Pennyhill the night after the match, Dylan giving them some space for a few hours. He has his phone in hand, clearly engrossed in something, but Owen is concerned of the pinched look on his face.

He slips on to the mattress a notch behind George and hooks his chin over his shoulder, peering at the article open on the phone. He doesn't even have to  finished a paragraph before he's tugging the device out of George's hands. Less than a year ago and seeing their names discussed together would likely have been a compliment. Now, though, Owen is certain it's the opposite.

George turns his head towards Owen, obviously confused, but Owen just catches his lips with his own in an apologetic kiss. He wouldn't know what to say anyway, hasn't know all season.

The eighth is for George being dropped once again, despite his heroic display.

Owen isn't really sure where the decision comes from; it isn't clear to him what kind of game or team the coaches are trying to play. Maybe it's just Eddie trying to develop the younger guys, maybe it's asserting a physically bigger team, maybe it's a grim foreshadow into how their positions will look in the future. Unfortunately, it's also an uncomfortable cast back to what they had looked like in the past.

They were new to it all, relationship wise, back when George first came into the squad. They'd come out to Lancaster anyway, despite only having started anything that could be deemed serious a few months previous. It probably had been for the best, kept them from rousing suspicion or getting in trouble on more than a few occasions. Still, the more bitter part of Owen still thinks it's what kept them apart on the pitch, regardless of all their junior experience playing together.

Nevertheless, it wore on them both to be pitted as rivals back then and Owen can tell it's wearing heavily on George now.

Even when he's training and laughing with everyone else, a place where he's normally his happiest, Owen can see a sadness behind his expressions.

There are a few jokes circling about, too, natural ribbing that all players on the bench face. George smiles and snarks back at every word, but Owen's not so sure he trusts the front. It hurts to be where George is, Owen knows it hurts.

So no, for one of the first times Owen isn't so blindly assured in Eddie's decisions. After all, George made up a team that's beaten Australia five times in two years, started in four of those matches. You'd have to be a fool not to use him, right?

The ninth is for the try George sets up for him.

It's straight off the bench which is probably what's most telling of the impact George's handling can have on a game. Owen almost wants to smirk at the mockery George is making of Eddie's decisions and pundits' opinions with his precise control.

They both know it's George's size that often does him the most discredit in a lot of people's eyes, something hardly refuted with the way he has to jump both feet off the ground just to catch Wigglesworth's pass. That can be almost entirely overlooked, however, thanks to the way he draws the ball back at a superb angle, doesn't even have to look to know that Owen will be there waiting.

Owen's slightly shocked when the ball actually ends up in his hands. Part of him thought George might chance it through the defenders, a try for himself being the perfect way to get him back in Eddie's starters. With Australia on the back foot, exhausted physically as much as they are, Owen thinks he may well just have got there. Only he doesn't. He gives it all up for Owen's glory.

When Owen's over the try line, there are plenty of the lads pouncing on him immediately, but there's only one presence at his side that he's really interested in.

It's hard to duck away from the others, but Owen just about manages to get an arm round George, then the other. Still surrounded, Owen squeezes him tightly -hopes the other lads are covering them or that the TV cameras have panned away as he drops his head into George's neck and breathes him in deeply.

"Thank you," The mutter is so quiet and muted so much further by George's shoulder that Owen doubts he's heard him. George doesn't say anything, but the returned squeeze is answer enough.

The tenth is because Dylan tells him to.

They're packing up their joint room when the conversation happens. It's hardly surprising that Dylan brings it up, really, Owen clearly looking concerningly unhappy for a co-captain who's just finished off a successful autumn campaign.

"What's wrong with you then, sour-face?" Owen pauses the silent packing of his suitcase when the unexpected inquiry comes, turning to face Dylan confused.

"What you on about?" He screws his face up as he asks it.

"Come on, mate. You've looked miserable for half the season. I know you can't being taking one loss to New Zealand _that_ hard, so what is it?" Dylan's never been the sharpest detective in the squad, but Owen supposes it's been pretty hard to miss with the amount they've seen of each other in the last month.

He sighs, "It's nothing, I guess. Just... I know we've played reasonably well, and we won the majority, but it hasn't really felt like the best autumn."

"Why not?" Dylan looks genuinely confused, "You've been playing as co-skipper and ten, mate. Isn't that, like, your dream?"

"Yeah," Owen answers sincerely, then considers, "Well, no not really. I don't know, things have been kind of strained with George and I thinks it's kind of because we're being played as rivals again and neither of us want that."

"It's what's getting you that number ten jersey, though," Dylan tries, but Owen knows he knows his answer.

"I'd give it up for the rest of my career for him, you know I would," It's not a lie, "I was a prick about Japan and I've been being a bit of a dick to him about a lot of things at the moment really. I just haven't been great to him recently and I think that and everything else has been getting him down."

"Which is getting you down too, even though you're half the cause of it." Dylan observes. Owen nods solemnly.

"So just make it up to him then." Dylan laughs brightly, "Say you're sorry, get him some flowers, tell him how you feel. Anything's got to be better than you both being miserable, surely."

Dylan's not wrong. In fact he's very right and suddenly things all seem so very simple. Owen's lips quirk slightly. "Does he really strike you as a flowers kind of bloke?"

His co-captain grins back, "Nothing a big bunch of roses can't fix mate, trust me."

A week later and the single rose on their jerseys' are packed away back out of sight until February, but they've been replaced with a bouquet of ten on their mantle piece at home.

George laughed when Owen gave them to him, apparently the whole team at Leicester laughed when George told them about them, they were spotted in the background of a photo he sent on the Sarries group chat which has made him the subject of more than a bit of ribbing.

But Owen will take it all, because George is smiling again and they're okay again and that's all that really matters in the end.  

**Author's Note:**

> I was always going to write about these two after this autumn's tests, let's be real. Hope you all enjoyed the games if you got to see them, I'd love to hear what you all thought of the results.  
> Also, yes, this is me putting off writing/publishing the sequel to Linger, but I promise I am working on it. I seem to be working crazy hours at the moment, but hopefully that'll calm down soon and I'll get more of a chance to write.  
> Thank you so much for reading and for all your support; comments and kudos are always greatly loved and appreciated.


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